


The Line

by anonshakespeare



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Oh dear lord, i hope i can be forgiven, inspired by that one line in the Stay Alive reprise, that just killed me, the line about Philip changing the line, this was written in 40 minutes, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonshakespeare/pseuds/anonshakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is one thing a Hamilton can be counted on to do, it was cross the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (finished and published) fic ever. I appreciate kudos and comments, as well as feedback! This is a first draft, unbeta-ed. I don't know why I wrote this... But here it is.  
> Plus, you get a virtual cookie if you recognize the name not explicitly stated in the musical.

If there was one thing a Hamilton could be counted on to do, it was cross the line.

Philip makes this realization as he looks down at his father from Heaven. Or, as he looks across from the line that separates Life and Death, to be accurate. As he watches his father and mother walk hand in hand down the dark streets of uptown, the quiet peace of the afterlife makes him sigh in contentment.

Phillip sits on a rocking chair facing the Plane of the Living, the quiet bubbling of a nearby stream and the occasional page turn and hum of pondering keeping the air around him from being completely still. That stream was always nearby, never right in front of you, never far away, and that is one of the most peculiar tics of (what Philip can only assume is) Heaven, he has learned, as well as the inability to find someplace on it that does not face the people who are suffering the most from his recent--if it is recent, if it has not been hundreds of years like it feels sometimes--demise. He often ponders this to himself, and has found himself voicing these opinions to Mr. Laurens, who is the most attentive listener when he is not reading the novel that Philip’s father’s life is writing right now. 

Mr. La--no,  _ John, please, Mr. Laurens is my father, and he can’t really hear you, now can he? _ \--John has occasions where he gets up from his own rocking chair and stretches and tells Philip that he is going to find some friends of his. These occasions happen pretty frequently, and they are usually just spells where John tries to find anyone in the dense fog that surrounds their two rocking chairs. Sometimes he succeeds, bringing an old soldier buddy here, a former slave there. Sometimes the stranger, John, and him will talk for what feels like hours until the conversation just dwindles away and Marcus or Lucy or Betty or whoever wanders off, back into the foggy depths.

Philip prefers to sit in his chair, occasionally recalling tender moments with his family, occasionally talking about what his mother taught him on the piano, occasionally humming quiet tunes his mother would try to teach him. Every time he hums, he chuckles a little as he remembers one time or another when he would change the line and his mother would get  _ so irritated, Laurens, like, her face would be red with how much shouting she was trying not to do _ . Yet every time, the chuckling would eventually drift off with a nostalgic sigh and he would finish the line with his embellishments in tact.

And that was the idea, wasn’t it? He would always change the line, and not just change it, but cross it, run through it, act as if the line was right in front of him and not miles behind him. Everyone, including Laurens, said that he was exactly like his dad, and that the world wasn’t big enough for two “adult” Alexander Hamiltons roaming the streets unsupervised  _ and think about your poor mother, too, Philip, she would be so spread thin from all of the shit you spew to the world, shit she would have to clean up or burn in the streets _ . John would go into a tale about young, rapscallion Hamilton, how the tomcat would never stop,  _ couldn’t _ ever stop, and while such insults to his father had led to his death, he's here now, with a man that smiles fondly when he says  _ tomcat _ , a fond smile that he sometimes recognizes, so he never challenges this man to a duel, how could he? His only friend in death, since all of his living friends are just that,  _ living _ and  _ breathing  _ and  _ not appreciating all of the little things like traffic noises and God just appreciate it already dammit you young fools! _

Hamiltons are also known, apparently, for their temper. When Philip first goes off on this rant when he happens to walk past the stream that separates life from death and walk right into Laurens’ little bit of peace, John just sits in his rocking chair in silence until Philip has tried (and failed spectacularly) to destroy every rocking chair save for the one the older man is sitting in. Then he just stands up and gives the younger man a hug as he laughs hysterically and says, “You are your daddy’s son for sure.”

But, in this moment, Philip is rocking in his rocking chair, with the sound of a nearby stream bubbling and John Laurens humming a soldier’s drinking song as he reads the book of Alexander Hamilton, a book that is nearing its last pages. Behind him, a woman that he recognizes as Rachel Buck steps up and places bony hands delicately on the top of his chair. To his right, the fog shifts and a third rocking chair appears and a bald man of tall stature smiles at Philip and stands, saluting at Laurens, who has finished his salute to the General. Philip smiles as he looks around at the people he recognizes as his father’s favorites, and looks across the Line again, this time into the eyes of his father.

Laurens, already standing, begins leading the group of them in a song.

_ Alexander’s coming home. _

_ Alexander’s coming home. _

_ Alexander’s coming home. _

_ We have all missed you for too long. _

_ Alexander’s coming home. _

FIN


End file.
